


I'll Follow

by devilsalwayscry



Series: Post-DMCV Fix It Fics [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-31 11:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18590095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilsalwayscry/pseuds/devilsalwayscry
Summary: Hell spit them out about 100 miles south of Red Grave City and six months later. It doesn't feel like they walked that far or for that long, but Vergil says that distance and time in the underworld aren’t a perfect 1:1 to the human world, and Dante's too tired to think about that any harder than he already has. It's a problem they'll have to deal with sooner rather than later, but tonight, he's got two things on his mind: shower and sleep.(Dante third person POV, immediately follows "You Lead the Way"; they're home, and it's time to start working out some of those disastrous emotions of theirs. Dante's pining. Vergil's having nightmares. Nero's pissed. Kyrie's exasperated. Nico finds all of this very amusing.)





	I'll Follow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look that sure didn't take long, huh.
> 
> In my defense, this game has killed me and I need these terrible men to work through their problems together or I am going to wither away into nothing. I will turn to dust without it.
> 
> I'm not even going to say it's a maybe that there will be more installments in this little running series, because... there probably will be. I've got a few more ideas bouncing around my head. But I am also a fickle gremlin so don't expect this kind of frequency/consistency from me often, I was just REALLY motivated for this part. ;;
> 
> I'm also kind of a sap, sorry not sorry, you're stuck with a Vergil who's carrying some big time emotional baggage and needs to work it out now that he's, like, alive and shit again.

They check into a motel using Dante's often maxed (but blissfully not today) credit card. As unbelievable as it is, someone's actually more broke than he is: whatever cash Vergil had squirreled away somewhere is long gone, eaten up by twenty years of bank maintenance fees.  
  
They look like a pair of stray dogs that have wandered into the hotel from the street, and the look the woman at the counter is leveling at them tells Dante they definitely smell like it, too. He apologizes and she just shrugs, because his card cleared and that's really all she gives a damn about. He grabs Vergil by the elbow and hauls him and the bag of clothes they bought on the way out of the lobby, before she decides to be a little less tolerant and throw them both back into the street.  
  
Hell spit them out about 100 miles south of Red Grave City and six months later. It doesn't feel like they walked that far or for that long, but Vergil says that distance and time in the underworld aren’t a perfect 1:1 to the human world, and Dante's too tired to think about that any harder than he already has. It's a problem they'll have to deal with sooner rather than later, but tonight, he's got two things on his mind: shower and sleep.  
  
The room he's rented for them is small, barely big enough for them both to walk around comfortably at the same time, and there's only one bed and one chair. Tacky pale yellow wallpaper covers the walls, the entire room reeks of stale cigarettes, and the carpet has a concerning number of dark brown stains, but you get what you pay for. There's a shower, at least, and a preliminary test proves that it's actually got hot running water, so as far as Dante is concerned, they may as well be in a 5-star hotel.  
  
"You want first shower?" He asks, and Vergil takes one look at himself in the mirror above the bathroom sink, grimaces, and shuts the bathroom door, no words spoken. Dante rolls his eyes at the empty room, tosses the plastic bag of clothes and toiletries onto the bed, and collapses into the armchair.  
  
Vergil's been giving him the cold shoulder since they stumbled out of Hell about two hours ago, limiting his interactions with Dante to the bare minimum. It's half childish irritation for Dante's earlier stunt of shoving him through the gate and half pure, bone-deep exhaustion, so despite Dante's annoyance with it, he's not taking it too personally. They've been through one hell of a last seven months (several weeks? how does he measure that, even?), and he can't really blame Vergil if he's feeling a bit less than cordial right now.  
  
The fact he's even still here with Dante is sign enough that he's willing to stick this through, at least for now. Dante slouches down into the armchair as low as he can possibly get, propping his head against the back and folding his arms over his chest. He has questions for Vergil, starting with "what the hell were you thinking" and ending with "what happened twenty years ago," but he's going to have to tread carefully. Vergil hasn't tried to run off on him yet, but who's to say he'll be quite as tolerant if Dante starts being too pushy.  
  
Besides, do the answers to those questions really matter? Dante thinks that they do — he can't stand not knowing, wants so badly to fill in that gap in his Vergil knowledge, but he needs to weigh the pros and cons here. Having Vergil back at his side, as unbelievable and unexpected as that is, comes first.   
  
Exhaustion eats away at his ability to focus, and he lets that train of thought wander. He slips into a restless doze, dreams disjointedly of demons in the dark and nightmares in a far away castle.  
  
Vergil wakes him up with a jab of his foot some time later and Dante jolts to his feet, ready to fight off whatever's come after them. A warm hand on his chest brings him back to the here and now, and he takes a deep breath, flopping back into the chair.  
  
"Jesus, did you have to scare the shit out of me like that," he says, rubbing at his eyes with his hand and trying to shake off the lingering daze of sleep. Vergil just smirks at him in response, clearly finding it far more amusing than Dante does.  
  
He's changed into one of the cheap pairs of sweatpants and the shirt they picked up from the drug store down the street, and wow, it's a good look on him. Vergil's not one to do "casual" very often, but when he does, it's just as effortlessly good looking as his more elaborate clothing choices. He's picked out the darker blue of the two shirts, a tank-top that does wonders for his broad chest and shoulders. Between that and the fresh shave, he looks like they didn't just spend the last six human months trekking through the underworld.  
  
"Hey, not bad. Could be a new look for you," Dante sleepily says, pushing himself to his feet and stretching the kinks out of his back and neck from his impromptu nap. He only gets a snort in response. Now that he's standing, they're uncomfortably close—Dante can feel the heat radiating off Vergil's skin from his undoubtedly scorching hot shower—and Dante starts to lift a hand to do

What?

The moment's passed before he can act on it: Vergil wrinkles his nose at him in distaste and steps back, out of reach, and Dante drops his hand back to his side, feeling self-conscious.

"Go take a shower." Vergil swats at him and Dante skips out of the way of his flailing hand, heading towards the bathroom door.

"I'm going, I'm going." He pulls the door shut with a click, let’s out a shuddery breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and starts to strip his clothes off. Vergil must've taken the time to try to salvage his — when Dante goes to start the shower, he finds them hanging from the towel rack inside, dripping wet and mostly free of grime and demon bits. They're shredded all to hell, though, and Dante picks at a hole in the jacket that's suspiciously sword sized with his thumb and forefinger while he waits for the water to warm up.  
  
It's still a bit unreal, being back in the human world together and in one piece. When they'd jumped head first into the roots of the Qliphoth tree, he'd honestly expected the worst, considering how things had turned out for Vergil the first time around.  
  
He can't stop thinking about that. He's been haunted by Vergil's fall for so long that it's become a part of him, a familiar ache that never goes away. He dreams it often — Vergil's face in the dark, a flash of steel to stop him from reaching, from following him into those depths. When he wakes from those dreams, Vergil's face is burned into the back of his eyelids when he closes his eyes, outlined in darkness.  
  
He loses himself in the hot water of the shower, letting it drain away his thoughts and aches and pains. He scrubs himself until his skin feels tight and raw and the water begins to run cold, desperate to be clean for the first time in weeks. When he steps out, he throws his clothes into the tub next, letting the water rinse the bulk of the filth off of them. There's no soap to wash them with, but a little water's better than nothing, so he swishes them around, scrubbing off what he can with friction alone.  
  
He wrings them out and hangs them on the towel rack beside Vergil's, then brushes his teeth in the bathroom sink with a little plastic brush he'd picked up from the corner store along with the clothes. Being clean again is the most amazing feeling in the world, and he stands there and admires himself in the mirror, scratching at his even more out of control beard. He could leave it—it’s not a bad look, really, if a little scruffy. The allure of being clean shaven is too strong, though, so he gives in and sets about the mundane and very human task of trying to rid himself of it.  
  
It's a disaster, the disposable razor barely cut out for the job. Thank god for those half-demon healing powers or he’d look like a teenager after his first shave. By the time Dante's finally finished, the bathroom air is thick and humid with condensation, and he stares at his clean face in the foggy bathroom mirror.

God, they look so much alike. Getting rid of the beard just drives that point home, and it almost gives him the creeps; he's not really used to it, not any more. The lingering feeling of unease sticks with him even as he tosses the toiletries on the sink and shuts off the bathroom light, stepping from the room undressed. He's half-expecting to be met with an irritated whine from Vergil for his lack of modesty, and instead he's greeted by gentle snoring.

Vergil's already passed out, curled on his side on half of the queen-sized bed. The Yamato is propped against the night stand next to him, within reach if he needs it. Dante stops and just stares at him for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair, unstyled still from the shower, falls over his forehead and eyes. Seeing him like this, so peaceful and human, is surreal. A dream come true, really. Despite everything, the mistakes they've  _both_ made, they're getting a second chance to set things right.  
  
He feels a little like his chest is going to explode from the sappiness of that thought, so he shakes it off and sets about getting dressed. Dante slides into bed behind Vergil, just close enough that their backs touch when he breathes in, and he falls asleep quickly, lulled by the comforting presence of his brother next to him.

* * *

Dante wakes with a start, yanked from sleep by the inherent, gut deep sense that "something is wrong." At first he's not really sure where he is, and then he spots the tacky wallpaper and the generic seaside painting on the wall and remembers, _right, we're back home._

He takes stock of his surroundings slowly, foggy with sleep and the confusion that comes from being jolted awake in the dead of night. He's spread on his back on the motel bed, blankets tangled around his legs. Dim moonlight spills into the room through the thin curtains over the window, although he doesn't need it: being able to see in little light is one of the many blessings of their unusual heritage.  
  
An immediate scan of the area in his mind doesn't turn up any demonic presences come to kick his ass in his sleep, and as far as he can tell, there's nothing lurking in the darker corners of the room. So what's waking him up? His hair is standing on end and his heart is racing in his chest, catching his breath in his throat.  
  
Vergil comes to mind almost as an afterthought, and he feels guilty that he hasn't thought of him sooner, because _of course_ it's related. Dante rolls over to face him, reaching out to poke him in the arm but meeting empty space instead. There's a terrible second where he's sure that Vergil's left him, and he bolts upright, panic welling in his chest.  
  
Vergil is sitting on the side of the bed with his elbows propped on his thighs, palms pressed against his temples and fingers digging in at the back of his head. Tension is clear in his very posture: his shoulders are tight and straight, his breathing coming in short, barely audible little gasps. Dante pushes himself up so he's propped against the wall, the sight of his brother in distress setting him immediately into high alert. They've gone so long without being near each other that he's forgotten how easily Vergil's moods affect his own — when they were kids, they'd wake each other constantly, as if they were connected by some invisible link. _Vergil_ is what's setting him on edge: his apparent discomfort, or something else, Dante's not really sure.  
  
"Hey, everything alright?" He reaches out and touches Vergil's lower back as he says it, and Vergil actually _jumps_ a little, caught off guard by Dante's voice and touch. When he turns to face him, his eyes are wide and his lips are pulled into a thin, tight line, his distress obvious.  
  
Now that the haziness of sleep is finally clearing, Dante realizes two things: that Vergil's getting up must've been what woke him, and that his brother, fearless, vicious Vergil, has had a nightmare. His immediate reaction is to crack a joke at Vergil's expense, but then his brother turns away, straightens up with a shaky breath and slides his hands down his head to cling to the back of his neck and Dante suddenly can’t remember what he’s supposed to do in this situation. Nightmares aren’t a thing he can fight, they’re not something he can chase away—they just _are,_ for better or worse.  
  
When they were children, bad dreams were handled in almost always the same fashion: one would climb into the other's bed, clutching whatever stuffed cat or bird or wolf they'd fallen in love with at the time, and they'd talk about it, split the burden of their fear between the two of them. Vergil had always been the one to rationalize it — "it's just a dream, Dante, it's okay" — and Dante had been full of bravado and childish enthusiasm — "if anyone comes to hurt us I'll fight 'em!" Now, after everything that's passed between them and everything that they've been through, he's not sure what the proper course of action is.  
  
He settles for splaying his hand across Vergil’s lower back, rubbing a small circle with his thumb. Vergil leans back into the touch ever-so-slightly.  
  
"You okay?" Dante asks, and Vergil clears his throat and releases the vice-like grip on his neck and shoulders, dropping his hands to his lap with a shaky sigh.  
  
"Just great," he says, voice rough with sleep and an emotion that sounds suspiciously like fear. Unease is so foreign in Vergil’s voice that Dante doesn’t know what to do with that, either. He wishes he was better at this kind of shit.  
  
Vergil pushes himself back into the bed, mirroring Dante's pose: legs outstretched, back against the wall, hands resting at his sides. His breathing has already started to even out, but his face is strained, each crease made even more visible in the dim light.  
  
"That something new?" His twin doesn't immediately respond, instead preoccupying himself with pulling on the threads of the comforter beneath them. Dante gives him space, focuses instead on keeping himself awake; he's not going back to sleep until he's sure everything's good, but he's not about to pressure Vergil into talking about this, either.  
  
Besides, he can hazard a few guesses as to what the dream was about. They've got enough nightmare fuel between the two of them to last a lifetime.  
  
When Vergil finally speaks again, it's quiet, barely audible even in the silence:  
  
"No. Unfortunately not," he says, dropping his head back against the wall with a sigh and a quiet thud. Dante shifts uncomfortably at his side. He's not sure what to do, where his hands should be or what he should say. Asking Vergil for the details seems somehow tactless, but just letting it drop isn't going to help either of them get back to bed any time soon.  
  
Dante scoots back down until he's lying in bed, head propped up on his arm and facing him. With his spare hand he reaches for his twin's, poking him in the palm with his fingertips. Their hands are both bare, gloves discarded with the rest of their ruined clothes, and it makes him feel vulnerable. He squashes down the desire to recoil from that feeling, instead traces the lines in Vergil's palm with the nail of his index finger, embracing their vulnerability together.  
  
Vergil flexes his hand, grabbing Dante's fingers to stop his assault. He doesn't let go, though; his grip is hard, but not in a violent way. Instead, it's like he's clinging, hanging on to Dante for support or something. It sends a thrill through his stomach, up through his chest and all the way down his arms and fingers. He clears his throat in an effort to shake it off, hopes that it's not too obvious on his face that he loves this, their closeness and contact.

"Wanna talk about it?" Vergil's frown deepens and he shrugs, keeping his gaze locked on the off-white motel room ceiling. They sit in silence, Dante unsure where to begin, Vergil pondering the cigarette smoke stains that streak across the white paint above them. It seems like a lost cause, and Dante considers suggesting they just try to go back to bed, but then Vergil repositions their hands, flips them over so he has Dante's pinned to the bed beneath his fingers and palm.  
  
There's probably some kind of meaning there, because he's Vergil, and there's always meaning there, but Dante is too tired to try to unpack it. He laces their fingers together instead, loose but comforting.  
  
"Did you know it was me?" Dante wants to ask "when?" because Vergil's been about five different people in the past twenty years, but the look on his face and the context here tips him off that he's probably talking about Mallet. About Nelo Angelo.  
  
Which, frankly, is a conversation topic Dante's not thrilled about engaging in. Mallet was a nightmare on its own, a ghost from his past come back to haunt him. As much as he wants to know what happened between the Temen-ni-gru and Mallet, Dante's not feeling particularly receptive to telling his half of the story.  
  
It's unfair, and he knows it, so he tightens his fingers on Vergil's a little and takes a deep breath. He regrets Mallet, regrets not seeing through the tricks Mundus was playing on him sooner, and to talk about it feels like admitting his mistake. Admitting he’d failed.  
  
"Honestly? No, not at first," Dante says, and it's his turn to look everywhere but at his brother's face. "Why would I have? You died ten years before that, I thought that part of my life was over. Case closed."  
  
Vergil hums quietly in response, and Dante forces himself to stop his staring contest with the bedside lamp to instead focus his attention where it needs to be: on Vergil. He's wearing that same complicated, but unreadable expression he'd had before they tripped their way back into the human world, and Dante wishes desperately that he'd say something, _anything_ to absolve him of the guilt he's been carrying about that particular mistake for years.  
  
If he'd known it was Vergil sooner, would he have been able to do something? Fix it? Save him?  
  
"You had no other option," Vergil says, as if he's reading Dante's mind, and Dante just laughs a little, a humorless, dry thing, and flops down face first into the pillow.  
  
"Yeah, well, either way. Didn't realize it was you until the end." He flips their hands over, his on top of Vergil's now, before he continues: "I take it that's related?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What happened, Verg? How'd you even get back? Looked pretty damn final from my side of things." He could have worded that better, a fact that's pretty evident by the dark look on Vergil's face, but whatever. This is the longest conversation they've had since Vergil came back, and Vergil started it: that feels like free rein to start trying to get some answers in his book.  
  
"... _I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost,_ " Vergil says, and based on the way he says it, the cadence and the tone, he's quoting poetry. Something about it sounds familiar — something they read in their youth, probably, some ancient tome from their father's library — and it dawns on him after a moment of thought. It's Dante, because _of course_ it is.  
  
Again, there's probably some meaning behind that, but it's three in the morning and his brain is made of mush, so he's not getting it.  
  
"Great, thanks for that insight," Dante says, pressing Vergil's hand down into the mattress with a little more force, his frustration expressed through his aggression. And here he thought he was going to get some answers.  
  
"It is what it is," Vergil says, as if it explains anything at all. He meets Dante's movements with pressure of his own until they are basically arm wrestling in the bed, each too stubborn to let up. It's not long before they run out of steam, though, exhausted and unable to shake the melancholic atmosphere the nightmare and their conversation's created.  
  
An uneasy silence settles over them, and Dante returns to his mission of tracing the creases that run through Vergil's palm, digging his fingernail in just enough that it leaves a temporary white line behind in its wake. Their conversation seems to be over, and whether or not he's made Vergil feel any better about the nightmare is definitely up for debate, but at least they've had a somewhat civil, if unproductive, talk. He suspects that Vergil's not being entirely truthful in his ignorance, but if he doesn't want to discuss it, then who is Dante to force it out of him.  
  
They've got plenty of time to catch up.  
  
"Let's go back to bed, alright?" Dante suggests, stifling a yawn at the mere prospect of continuing his much needed sleep. Vergil nods, pulling his hand out from beneath Dante's and slipping back down into the bed. They settle into their previous positions — Dante laying on his right side, Vergil his left, their backs touching ever so slightly with each breath — and though it takes Dante some time before he's able to sleep again, he does so knowing that Vergil is here with him.

* * *

"Get up." Dante doesn't even hesitate: he grabs the pillow nearest him and tosses it with all his might toward the direction of the cruel, unwanted voice waking him up. There's a soft _fwomp_ as the pillow is caught mid-air and Dante has just enough time to cover his face with his arms before it's being thrown back at him with all the might of a pissed off half demon.  
  
"You've got to be kidding me, it's too early for this," Dante says, and Vergil scoffs; there's a scraping noise and suddenly the room is filled with horrible, terrible sunlight, blasting straight onto the bed from the single window. Whoever designed this room is a monster, Dante thinks, pressing the pillow into his face to spare himself from the light of day.  
  
"It's 3pm, Dante." Oh. Well, shit.  
  
"Hey, I think twelve hours might be a new record for me," Dante says, muffled beneath the fabric and feathers of the pillow. He feels a weight on the end of the bed and he peers out from beneath the pillow to find Vergil sitting at his feet, somehow already fully dressed, hair styled and ready to go. There's still the faintest hint of bags under his eyes, and he wears his exhaustion in the droop of his shoulders, but he's looking pretty good, all things considered.  
  
Dante chucks the pillow at the back of his head, then rolls off the bed before Vergil can retaliate, landing on his hands and knees with a thump. He stands and stretches, shaking away the sleepiness. Twelve hours is almost an embarrassingly long time, but judging by the fact Vergil's just now taken the time to wake him, he's not the only one who overslept. Thank god for credit cards, he thinks as he slips into the bathroom to prepare for the day.  
  
Vergil's still perched on the end of the bed when Dante's finished, arms crossed and gaze locked on the small window, face and hair illuminated in the sunlight. He turns to Dante after a moment and Dante looks away, suddenly aware that he's been staring. It's going to take a while before he gets over the shock of seeing Vergil where he left him and not an empty space where his brother used to be.  
  
"Now what?" Dante raises an eyebrow at him — he's not used to Vergil deferring to him in, well, anything, and the question catches him off guard. He pulls on his shirt and jacket as he mulls that over, trying to decide what the path of least resistance will be for them.  
  
Nero should probably be their first stop. If they go any longer without letting the kid know they're back in town, he'll end up throwing them both back into hell himself. Trish and Lady he can trust to take his return in stride, and Morrison's probably just working with the women on things. The three of them will be fine.  
  
Nero, on the other hand, will probably be a bit of a problem. Dante glances at Vergil out of the corner of his eye while he gathers up their sparse belongings, running through the options in his head. They could go back to the shop first, get Vergil set up with somewhere to stay, then go to Nero in their own time, but that runs the risk of someone seeing them and tipping the kid off before he can do it himself. If he calls ahead, lets Kyrie or someone know they're going, Nero will just have time to stew in his anger, wind himself up for a fight.  
  
Better to just waltz in there unexpected.  
  
"We head home." Vergil sighs, and Dante has to swallow a laugh at the look of utter horror that flashes across his face for a second. Chalk it up to old age or whatever, but Nero gave them both a run for their money, and he's really not looking forward to being tossed across the room by those ridiculous arms of his.  
  
Time to go get their asses kicked.

* * *

Nico's the one who opens the door.  
  
"Hey, I already told ya we ain't buyin' any — oooooh shit," she says, looking between the two of them with wide eyes. It takes her a few seconds to process what she's seeing before she breaks into a grin and leans back into the hallway, hanging from the door as she shouts: "Nero, get your ass out here!"  
  
"Hey, Nico," Dante says, waving at her, then toward Vergil. "Nico, Vergil. Vergil, Nico."  
  
Vergil stares at her like she's going to bite his head off.  
  
"I remember her," he says, but she doesn't seem to hear him, because she's too busy shouting at Nero to come to the front door. She leans back toward them, shark-like grin still firmly in place.  
  
"He's gonna kick both your asses, I hope you know," she says, then she backs up and wrinkles her nose at them. "God, y'all look like somethin' the cat drug in."  
  
Dante looks down at his shredded clothes and shrugs.  
  
"Been a rough, oh, seven months, give or take," he says, and she opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but then there's stomping behind them and about a two second window between when Nero starts to say "Nico, what the hell do you want" and when his eyes land squarely on Dante's face.  
  
Dante lifts a hand in greeting, the perfect image of casual nonchalance: "Hey, kid."  
  
"You _bastards_." Nico ducks out of the way and Vergil and Dante both scatter in separate directions as Nero charges through the front door, chest heaving, hands flexing at his side for want of a weapon. Dante thanks whoever might be listening that the kid lives in a busy neighborhood, because if not, he'd probably make up for the lack of weapons with other means; as it is now, he simply stands there, breath exploding in puffs of steam as he looks back and forth between the two of them.  
  
"Sorry it took so long," Dante says, slowly and carefully making his way back toward the front door. Vergil's not moving, though, and Dante shoots him a glance — "really?" — that earns him an eye roll in response. His twin takes a tentative step forward and Dante figures that's about as good as it's gonna get for now.  
  
"Got a bit tied up, you know how it is," he continues, and over Nero's shoulder he sees Vergil full on slam his face into his palm in exasperation. Yeah, he's definitely making this worse with his nonsensical talking, but if he doesn't say something he's probably going to get punched in the mouth, so he's gotta at least try.  
  
"You've gotta be kidding me," Nero says, face flushed with the cold and with his anger. "You're really just going to walk up to my front door like fucking nothing happened. Seriously, fuck you both!"  
  
"Nero..." Vergil's making an attempt, now, and Dante has to give him credit, even as Nero spins on him, fangs bared. It's a look that Dante's received half a dozen times in the last week alone, and it's truly alarming how alike they are in their rage.  
  
Vergil seems to recognize it, too — his eyes open a fraction wider and Dante can see the way his grip tightens on the Yamato from here. _Yeah, not so pleasant to be on the other side of that, huh?_ Dante thinks, thankful that Nero's turning his hatred on his father for now and not him.  
  
He's not really expecting the punch, figures that Nero will stick to hissing and spitting his aggression out while they're outside, and it's clear Vergil's not, either: it hits him square in the nose, sends him stumbling backward with the most incredulous look Dante thinks he's ever seen on his twin's face. It takes everything Dante's got to not burst into laughter, but instead he decides to be useful and put an end to Nero's little tantrum before he brings out the neighbors.

With a quick dash he’s behind Nero, gathering him up into his arms in effectively a bear hug. His arms are pinned to his sides and he flails in a panic, kicking and swearing as if Dante’s trying to kidnap him or something.

They are both so dramatic, but at least the tried and true Dante bear hug tactic seems to be effective here, too. Like father, like son.

"Kid, you gotta calm down. Breaking your old man's face isn't gonna solve anyone's problems, I can tell you this from personal experience," Dante says, picking Nero up off the ground to prevent him from getting the leverage he needs to try to do something idiotic like suplex Dante into the concrete.  
  
"Fuck you!" Eloquent as always. Clearly they're making progress.  
  
Vergil straightens up a few feet away, glaring daggers and holding a gloved hand to his nose, which is pouring a not insignificant amount of blood down his chin.  
  
"Unbelievable," Vergil says, voice even more nasally than before as the broken nose slowly heals. Dante can't help but snort in amusement, which seems to just invigorate Nero, because now he's kicking Dante's shins with as much force as his bare feet can muster.  
  
"Little help here, maybe?" Dante asks, and Vergil growls in frustration, and for a second Dante thinks "oh great, now he's going to stab us both" before Vergil takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and says:  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Nero and Dante both freeze in place.  
  
"Uh, what?" He lets go of Nero, too shocked by this turn of events to remember to keep a hold on him, and the kid stumbles a little in surprise. Dante steadies him with a hand on his shoulder, but his eyes never leave Vergil, who is currently looking everywhere but Dante.  
  
"The fuck?" Nero's known Vergil for all of about one hour total and even he knows this is an uncharacteristic move for him.  
  
The same faint, rose pink flush from before creeps across Vergil's face, and he buries it by wiping the blood from his mouth and nose off on the back of his coat sleeve and pretending like he hasn't just said the craziest thing Dante's ever heard in his life.  
  
"Well, now I think I've seen everything," Dante says, clearing his throat to break up the awkward silence that's fallen between the three of them. Whatever he’s just said was a mistake, because his voice kick starts Nero back into gear, who hisses at him in displeasure, spinning around like he's prepared to punch Dante in the face next.  
  
"Nero..." Kyrie's voice reaches them from the doorway, and Dante spots her standing there with her arms crossed, the very image of exasperation. _ohthankgod_ Dante thinks, greeting her with a grin and a wave.  
  
"Hey, Kyrie," he says, stepping around Nero, who's frozen in place and turning bright pink himself, as if he's been caught in the act of something he shouldn't be doing.  
  
Dante's only met Kyrie a handful of times, but punching out his relatives is probably on the list of things she'd disapprove of, so Dante's glad for her presence. He waves Vergil over, grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him back to the front door in his best efforts to make at least a halfway decent impression on probably the only normal person in the entire family.  
  
"Vergil, this is Kyrie, your son's better half. Kyrie, meet your pop in law," Dante says, and Kyrie levels a gaze at Vergil that could freeze a lake, and _oh shit where'd she learn that._ She needs to spend less time with Trish, clearly.

"A pleasure to meet you,” she says, bowing ever so slightly toward Vergil, who just sort of stares at her before remembering his manners and returning the gesture and sentiment. She hides a laugh behind her hand, shaking her head in this “you’re all hopeless” sort of way. Dante shrugs—the lady’s not wrong.

“We’ve just finished cooking dinner, if you’d care to join us.” She walks back into the house and Dante hesitates, looking to Vergil for his cue for next steps. This is a whole lot of family reunion all at once, and if Vergil’s not comfortable with it, they’ll call it a night here and head to their second stop. Vergil looks like he’s weighing the options, but he nods at Dante, stepping into the house after Kyrie.

From the sidewalk, Dante hears Nero swearing, followed by the sound of him running back up to the porch and front door.

“This ain’t over,” he says, pushing past Dante with a little more force than is really, truly necessary. Dante lets him go without a word. He’ll either get tired of being angry or they’ll come to blows over it; either way, he’s not one to turn down a home cooked meal, and if there’s anything that helps temper a bad mood, it’s a full stomach.

He shuts the door behind him as he walks in, listening to Kyrie trying to engage in small talk with Vergil, showing no signs of stopping even as he only answers her with one or two words. Nero is stomping his way to the kitchen, pointedly ignoring them both, but Dante feels something like contentment, despite his nephew’s obvious anger. He’s brought Vergil back—Vergil, who hasn’t stabbed anyone, or run off screaming, or any other manner of dramatic overreaction Dante half-expected from him. It’ll be awhile before they can make amends with Nero, but so far, he’d say they’re off to a pretty good start.

* * *

_Bonus:_

Dante sees the abject horror pass over Vergil’s face the moment Kyrie introduces them both to the small pack of kids that Nero and Kyrie care for, a screaming, over-excited group of anywhere between 5 and 12-year-old's. Dante’s been with them a few times for dinner, so he’s used to the chaos that is a herd of children, but Vergil seems uncomfortable in a way that Dante can’t help but find absolutely hilarious.

He’s also inspecting every kid that passes by, and it takes a moment before Dante realizes what exactly he’s looking for: a family resemblance. That breaks his composure, and he finally _does_ laugh, unable to control himself. Kyrie and Nero shoot him a look, and he ignores them, dropping his hand on his twin’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Verg, I don’t think you’re a grandpa yet,” he says, and Vergil looks visibly relieved, even as Nero screeches “ _what_ ” and Kyrie turns bright red at the implication.

**Author's Note:**

> Vergil quotes Dante's Inferno, Canto I, second and third lines. The full bit that's particularly relevant is this, though really, it's the fact he's quoting Dante at all that's important:
> 
> Midway upon the journey of our life  
> I found myself within a forest dark,  
> For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
> 
> Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say  
> What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,  
> Which in the very thought renews the fear.
> 
> So bitter is it, death is little more;  
> But of the good to treat, which there I found,  
> Speak will I of the other things I saw there.
> 
> I cannot well repeat how there I entered,  
> So full was I of slumber at the moment  
> In which I had abandoned the true way.


End file.
